


Cuffed

by AnnetheCatDetective



Series: Give Me The News [6]
Category: St. Elsewhere
Genre: Gen, Victor/Roberta mentioned-ish, What's a little accidental bondage between friends?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 18:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16979691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective
Summary: The one time in his life Victor hasn't tidied up after himself exactingly is the one time it would cause the most stress...





	Cuffed

**Author's Note:**

> (wait, dangit, this is like the sixth of a series, this is the problem with writing out of order)

    “Hey, look, thanks.” Morrison says, sliding in once Victor opens the door. “Fiscus told me he could lend me the book I needed, and then he didn’t have it--”

 

    “Because he left it here. You should charge him a deposit on him if he wants it back from you. It’s been sitting on my shelf for a month now and he never came back for it. I’ve already emptied a box of his stuff out of my apartment, I can’t imagine the state he must have left his old place in… I don’t know why he didn’t just get a storage unit.”

 

    “I think they frown on people living in those.”

 

    “I meant for his stuff…”

 

    “No, I know, it was-- Forget it, thanks for finding the book for me.”

 

    Victor heads for the shelf, Morrison sort of drifting behind him towards the couch.

 

    “No problem. It’s just taking up space with me. You know, with how long ago I gave him the boot, I shouldn’t still be finding his crap… And the kitchen still hasn’t recovered! I thought it was bad when he was thoughtless, but then he tried to put away the dishes and I can’t even get into the drawer with the potato masher anymore…”

 

    “Tell us how you really feel. Hey, what’s this-- Did you know you have handcuffs in the sofa cushions? Or did he leave those, too?”

 

    “Oh…” Victor has the book. He could straighten up, turn around, meet his coworker’s eyes and have to explain the handcuffs. He definitely does not want to do that. But he can’t blame Wayne… well, he could, but he’d feel so _guilty_. “No-- Well-- I mean-- They’re not mine, either, but-- Look, just don’t play around with those, though, because I don’t have the--”

 

    _Click_.

 

    Victor turns, slowly, with an expression of dawning horror.

 

    “Key.”

 

    Morrison’s amusement drops away in a flash. “What?”

 

    “I don’t have the key!”

 

    “Open with ‘I don’t have the key’ next time!” He says, frantic.

 

    “Don’t mess around with handcuffs you find in someone else’s couch next time!” Victor shoots back, equally frantic. “I’ve got to get back to the hospital, I can’t, I can’t deal with this! I’m assisting Craig, if I’m late because I accidentally-- no, because a _coworker_ accidentally handcuffed _himself_!-- Oh, he’s gonna kill me!”

 

    “You can’t deal with this? I’m the one wearing the handcuffs!” Morrison spreads his arms. The cuffs dangling from one wrist jangle faintly. “I have to pick up my kid from Nina’s folks’, and I can’t-- I can’t show up like this. I mean, do you understand that? How do you not have the key?”

 

    “Roberta has the key. Roberta! Okay, no, okay, this-- I’ll call her. You just…”

 

    “Sit tight?”

 

    “I’ll call her.” He heads for the phone. “You didn’t have to fool around with them, you know!”

 

    “Yeah, I know.” Morrison grumbles, folding his arms and dropping to the sofa.

 

    She doesn’t pick up, but Victor’s heart rate does. He cannot have a man in handcuffs leaving his apartment! He can’t have a man in handcuffs _in_ his apartment. Well, under the circumstances he guesses he can and he guesses he doesn’t have a whole lot of choices, because it is just… it’s someone he knows, it’s not… they didn’t _do_ anything. He didn’t pick a guy up to do stuff with, which, he’d never! It was a dumb mistake, it’s a series of dumb mistakes. Roberta taking the key but not the cuffs, Victor leaving them lying around when he normally never leaves anything out of place-- only he’d been so tired! And they’d slid down in between the cushions and he’d forgotten them!-- Victor not just saying ‘don’t touch those’ as loudly as necessary, Morrison snapping a strange pair of handcuffs onto his wrist on some random impulse without asking if there was a key for them…

 

    And… and whatever reason Roberta has for being unreachable. He hangs the phone up and dials again.

 

    “She’s not there?” Morrison frowns, leaning forward.

 

    “She didn’t get to the phone but I’m trying, okay? I don’t know if she’s there.”

 

    “She’s probably at work. Normal people have normal hours, don’t they?”

 

    “I only have one number…”

 

    “I can’t…” He cuts himself off, rubbing at his jaw with the cuffs still dangling and clinking. “I can’t show up to pick my son up from my mother-in-law like this, she’ll think I was with someone, and at that point… it’s not even about the handcuffs, you know?”

 

    “Well, it’s kind of about the handcuffs.” Victor says, mouth a tight line. Still no answer…

 

    “It’s about my mother-in-law can’t think I’m just moving on with some… strange woman with handcuffs, who won’t be good stepmother material, and even if she was, it’s--” He rubs his hand over his mouth this time, sighing out through his nose. “It looks like I’m moving on, and...”

 

    “Or you’ve escaped an arrest. Look… She wouldn’t think that, she knows you, it doesn’t… You’re dressed, your hair is… normal. You’re normal. You’re-- It doesn’t look like that. Nobody’s going to think you were with someone. Nobody’s going to see you in handcuffs! Because, I mean, and think about how it looks for me!” He adds, with a hysterical little laugh. “Strange men in handcuffs exiting my apartment? No. Come on-- come on, I-- Eyeglass repair kit! Maybe I can use the little, little screwdriver, right? Maybe I can get that open.”

 

    “You think?” He rockets to his feet, nodding. “Yeah, okay, let’s try that.”

 

    “It’s worth a shot. And look, if I can’t get them open--” Victor starts, leading Morrison up the stairs to the bedroom.

 

    “Don’t say if you can’t, we can’t do can’t.”

 

    “-- I owe you a drink?”

 

    “Yeah, if you can’t get these things off of me, I’ll need one.” He holds his hand up, giving his wrist an emphatic little shake. “So… handcuffs, huh?”

 

    “They’re not mine.”

 

    “Seeing you in a whole new light today, Doctor Ehrlich.”

 

    “And I would really appreciate it if no one found out about this--”

 

    “No one’s finding out about _this_.”

 

    “I mean about those.” He hunches his shoulders. “Well, here we are. Eyeglass repair kit should be right where I always keep it. If I can perform surgery, I can do this, right?”

 

    “Here’s hoping.” Morrison shrugs. The eyeglass repair kit is right where Victor always keeps it. He holds it up and Morrison holds out his wrist.

 

    The stability is zilch and there’s no real leverage, and Victor doesn’t really know if you can pick the lock on a pair of handcuffs with the screwdriver from an eyeglass repair kit, but it feels like it should work, it’s just that everything’s wobbly on his first attempt.

 

    “You do this often?”

 

    “Ha ha.” He shakes his head.

   

    Morrison moves to sit on the edge of the bed, bracing his elbow on his thigh and using his other hand to hold the cuffs still, and so Victor follows, making a second attempt at the lock. He can’t quite get it, he doesn’t know what he’s feeling for.

 

    “Guess you should stick to surgery and leave locksmithing to the professionals.” Morrison groans.

 

    “Guess so.”

 

    “Ehrlich-- sorry. No, you’re right, this is my fault, I slapped them on in the first place. I just… You know how it gets when you don’t sleep?”

 

    “Yeah.”

 

    “Well, I don’t sleep.” He shrugs heavily. “Go on, try it one more time, it started to make a sound before.”

 

    He braces everything again, and Victor nods and leans back in.

 

    “Hey, look, I promise I’ll get you out of this. You won’t have to pick your kid up from your in-laws looking like a… weird sex freak.”

 

    “Your words, not mine.”

 

    “Well. I mean, like I said, they’re not mine. I mean--! Look, it’s really not… it’s not a big deal, I don’t even really like them that much.”

 

    “It’s fine, really.”

 

    “No, it’s-- it’s just not what you think.”

 

    “I don’t think anything.”

 

    Victor drops the tiny screwdriver to the bedspread, tugging at his hair in frustration. He’s too nervous. His hands aren’t shaking, but they’re not working right, either. In the OR, he’d know what he was doing, it would work out okay. Here, he’s… he’s a mess. He can’t get a feel for what he needs, because it’s not a human body, it’s not the tools he’s used to. He’s not even sure he could fix his glasses in this state. He can’t leave the apartment with Morrison like this, Morrison can’t leave the apartment like this, Roberta isn’t answering the phone, and he just feels like he’s running out of options. He can’t not go in to work, just like Morrison can’t not pick up his kid. Maybe he could call the in-laws and say he’d be late, but he’d still need to be able to leave and get over there, and he’d need to have an explanation that wasn’t _this_ , and no matter how much he might say it’s fine and he doesn’t think anything, he has to think something. How could he not? Handcuffs! Even if they’re not his, he was clearly okay with using them, and on the sofa, what kind of respectable person…?

 

    “Come on. Breathe, okay?” Morrison pats his back. Victor can feel the handcuffs dangle down against him when he does. “One more try, third time’s the charm.”

 

    “I’m going to try calling Roberta again.” He stands. A little too fast, and he sways a moment before righting himself. “She has to pick up, she-- Third time’s the charm, right?”

 

    Morrison picks up the screwdriver before following him back down to the kitchen phone. Roberta still doesn’t pick up. Not that he could say he really expected her to…

 

    “There’s one other thing I can think of. But you’re going to hate it.”

 

    “Okay.”

 

    “But you won’t have to-- But it’ll be fine, I’m going to keep you out of it! You’ll hide in here, and I’ll just… have someone else bring me a key.”

 

    “You’re going to call someone else to bring you a key for a set of handcuffs?”

 

    “Yes.”

 

    “You’re right, I hate it.” Morrison sighs, except he’s smiling when he says it. “If you know someone else who has handcuffs.”

 

    “It’s really not like that! I just-- I can call someone who can maybe get a key and get it over here.” He picks up the phone and dials. “And you were never here. Or, you were, but you picked up the book and you left-- the book!”

 

    Morrison nods and goes to pick it up, before returning to lurk in the kitchen, not that he needs to be in hiding yet. This time, at least, the phone is answered right away.

 

    “Saint Eligius, Nurses’ station, second floor--”

 

    “Hey, is Fiscus there?” Victor asks, cutting her off. He casts a guilty glance back to Morrison. Morrison shakes his head, and Victor just shrugs.

 

    “Yeah, I’ll get him.”

 

    “This is not going to end well.”

 

    “Yeah, I know.” Victor frowns. “I said I’d keep you out of it.”

 

    “Yeah, well… good luck.”

 

    He laughs, though it’s a little sad and hollow.

 

    “Y’ello, what did you need me for?”

 

    “Oh, thank goodness, look-- this is an emergency, Fiscus, and you owe me!”

 

    “I don’t owe you!”

 

    “The carpet cleaning service? Uh-huh.” He nods, triumphant, when there’s no quick argument. “That’s what I thought. And I wouldn’t be quick to erase that debt if I wasn’t in a real jam right now, so consider it your lucky day, because sterilizing an entire apartment doesn’t come cheap.”

 

    “I’m listening.”

 

    “Look… you’ve-- you’ve been around, right? You’ve had some wild exploits. You ever…” He steels himself. “You ever use handcuffs on a girl? And would you know where to maybe get a _key_ for a pair of handcuffs?”

 

    Fiscus laughs, that rat.

 

    “This is serious!”

 

    “You don’t have a key?”

 

    “Roberta has the key. I tried calling her--”

 

    “Wait, the girl who has the key isn’t the one in the handcuffs?”

 

    “Keep your voice down! And I told you I was desperate, didn’t I?”

 

    “Yeah, pretty desperate, to be stupid enough to call your girlfriend to come help you unlock somebody else. That never goes well.”

 

    “It’s not what you think.”

 

    “Uh-huh.”

 

    “It’s not!” Victor stamps his foot. “Come on! I’m in a real bind here, I can’t miss work because of this!”

 

    “Okay, okay, keep your pants on.” Fiscus says. Still laughing. “I’ll be there as soon as I can get someone to cover me. Just--”

 

    “Sit tight, yeah.” Victor says miserably. He hangs up, turning back to Morrison. “I’m never going to hear the end of this. He thinks I have some mystery woman up here I’m two-timing with!”

 

    “When the rumors start going around, do you want me to say I heard your mystery woman was like… a supermodel?”

 

    Victor snorts. “I’d rather people not think I was cheating on my girlfriend, but it could be worse.”

 

    Morrison punches his shoulder gently. “That’s the spirit.”

 

    “And the thing with the handcuffs isn’t--”

 

    “Sure. It’s-- I’m not going to say anything about it to anyone.”

 

    “Because I know the kinds of things people say about me! I don’t mean about this, except they’re probably going to start, but in general! I mean, I always have. I was just… one of those kids people always had an opinion on.” He leans against the doorway, head thunking gently back. “I’ve just always known the kinds of things… I mean I hear things.”

 

    “People don’t talk about you now, though-- okay, well, not more than anybody else, though. I mean… they like you.”

 

    “Sure. But when this gets around… Let’s talk about anything other than the handcuffs.”

 

    “They’re kind of weighing on my mind at the moment, but shoot. I could use a distraction”

 

    “You ever seen Endless Summer?”

 

    Morrison shakes his head, smiling. “Tell me about it.”

 

    Victor does. He knows how long it takes to get from St. Eligius to his apartment. He does his best to time himself, really he does. But… well, he’s only talking about the greatest documentary ever made.  The knock on the door startles him a little.

 

    “Kitchen, hide-- COMING!” Victor calls, making sure he’s got Morrison stashed out of sight before he rushes to let Fiscus in. Fiscus, who is holding not a key, but a camera.

 

    “Okay, I can explain.” He says, looking down at Victor’s hands. “See, when you said Roberta had the key but it wasn’t what I thought, but you couldn’t come to work until you could _get_ a key--”

 

    “Where is the key?”

 

    “I have it, I have it.”

 

    “Where’s the key, Fiscus?”

 

    “You’re not in handcuffs.”

 

    “Where is the key?” Victor repeats.

 

    “I thought you’d be in them, that’s why I brought a camera. So you _do_ have another woman here.” He pushes his way past, leaning to look up the stairs.

 

    “No, I don’t-- Fiscus, you can’t go in my room!”

 

    “Oh-- Right.” He stops and sets the camera down on the table. “No photography. You can’t have me over to do this for you and not introduce me to your lady friend.”

 

    “My lady friend isn’t here. Where’s the key?”

 

    Fiscus gets past him, jogging up the stairs, and it’s the principle of the thing that has Victor scrambling after him yelling at him not to go in his room, the one _blessedly_ Fiscus-free zone in the place. Fiscus knocks on the door to the empty room, calls out a hello, cautiously pushes it open before Victor can stop him, only to see absolutely nobody there. Just a neatly made bed that briefly had two people sitting on it, just Victor’s very well-ordered bedroom.

 

    “You don’t have a girl stashed in here.” He blinks.

 

    “I told you I didn’t!”

 

    “Well then where are the handcuffs?”

 

    “Where is the _key_?”

 

    “I don’t get it, why am I here? Why didn’t you want me going in your room?”

 

    “Because it’s _my room_! Because I haven’t had to have the carpet shampooed in here, _yet_!”

 

    He gets Fiscus back downstairs, pestering him for the key every step of the way, only for Fiscus to try and hold it out of his reach once he brings it out. Even with the reach Victor has on him, he can’t seem to get it away.

 

    “Okay, seriously, where do you have her? Bathroom?”

 

    “Give me the key, Fiscus!”

 

    “Come on, Victor, look, you can get her covered up, I’m not trying to sneak a peek or anything, I just want to meet her!”

 

    “Give-- give me the-- give it, give it!”

 

    “Give him the key, Fiscus.” Morrison sighs from the kitchen doorway, stopping the scuffle in its tracks as Victor slumps, letting out a sigh, and as Fiscus startles.

 

    “Jack!”

 

    “It’s not what it looks like.” Victor says.

 

    “It looks like a fully dressed man from work is in your kitchen. Although yes, the handcuffs are a little suspicious.”

 

    “The handcuffs-- Nothing weird happened with the handcuffs!”

 

    “No, I know. Jack Morrison’s a man of taste.”

 

    “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Victor squawks.

 

    “Ehrlich, a hand here?” Morrison jangles the cuffs on his wrist again, and Victor shakes off the slight, making his way the rest of the way over to get the lock taken care of. This time, the cuffs spring open exactly like they’re supposed to. “Thanks.”

 

    “Do you need-- I mean, when-- Not that-- I mean, the cuffs aren’t mine!”

 

    “Just need to grab that book and get out of here.” He nods, grabbing both the book and Fiscus and heading for the door. He pauses, turning back to Victor as he trails after them. “You might want to stick to rope in the future-- no keys to lose. And if you can’t undo the knot, you know where you can borrow trauma shears.”

 

    “Okay, but they’re not--” He starts, but he finds he can’t quite finish his sentence. He’s not about to say that he’s recently taken to keeping those shears on hand for just that purpose, that he knows about rope, thank you very much, and what do you know about it, oh he’s definitely not asking that, he just wants to go to work and forget all about… all of this.


End file.
